


Cataglottism

by DoubleNegative



Series: The Locker Room: Check Please! ficlets [5]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Best Friends, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, M/M, Niagara Falls, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 14:12:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7577053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleNegative/pseuds/DoubleNegative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holster comes back to himself with a start. “Sorry. Just thinking, I dunno.” Birds circle above the water; he tracks their progress to avoid looking at Ransom’s stupid salmon shorts and stupid Samwell croakies and stupid perfect face. “Everything’s weird,” he adds softly, still not trusting himself to look at Ransom.</p><p>“Weird as fuck,” Ransom says, and then he leans his head against Holster’s shoulder, short-buzzed hair scratchy against his bare skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cataglottism

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girlwhowearsglasses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlwhowearsglasses/gifts).



They meet on Goat Island, as they always do, because it’s as close as they can get to “right in the middle”--someone’s going to have to cross a border either way, but meeting on the island makes it feel more equal.

Holster gets there first, as he always does, and he leans against the railing at Terrapin Point, closing his eyes against the light spray and letting the familiar roar of the falls wash over him. It feels like they’ve been doing this for years; it hurts to think they might not do this again.

(Of course they will. Of _course_ they will. They’re graduating, not dying, and their friendship goes deeper than Samwell. They’re drift compatible. They finish each other’s sentences and share best-friend sundaes and have weekly _Golden Girls_ date nights. They’ve already talked about finding an apartment together next year, depending on where Rans ends up in medical school. They’ll be fine. They’ll definitely be fine.)

A pair of strong arms wrap around Holster’s chest from behind, and a smacking kiss lands on his cheek. Holster turns in Ransom’s embrace and hugs him back, squeezing tightly around his waist before he slaps him on the back.

Ransom’s wearing his salmon shorts, which Holster hates, and his Samwell sunglasses with the awful matching croakies, which Holster hates more, but he knows that saying anything will only add to Ransom’s sense of victory. Holster’s pretty sure, at this point, that Ransom wears this shit on purpose, just to make him roll his eyes.

Anyway, he’s not sure he can say anything that won’t, somehow, be incriminating, because stupid croakies or not, Ransom looks hot as hell. “Missed you, dude,” he says instead, and punches Ransom’s bicep because that’s safe, right?

“Fifth-grade me can’t believe I’m saying this, but summer break’s kinda lame,” Ransom agrees. “Less hockey, no Haus, and a lot of people asking me what I’m doing after graduation.”

Holster groans theatrically. “The worst fucking question, oh my god. Seriously, the next person who asks, I’m gonna tell them I’m stripping.”

Ransom cackles and smacks Holster on the ass. “Put that hockey butt to work.”

“Magic Mike was inspiring, okay? If Channing Potato can do it, so can I.”

“Follow your dreams, bro. And if you need a hype man, I’ll be there to, like, stuff twenties in your g-string, get the crowd going.”

Once again, Holster’s not sure what to say to that. He turns away and settles back against the railing instead, and after a moment, Ransom does the same. They watch the falls in silence, shoulders brushing. The first year they did this, they went full tourist: boat tour, ponchos, and selfie-stick included. But Holster likes low-key better. He wants to hang out with Ransom; Niagara Falls is just a convenient, easily-accessible backdrop. They’ll spam the group text with ridiculous selfies, they’ll find someplace to sit and shoot the shit for awhile, they’ll go out for dinner and then Holster will reluctantly let Ransom drive back to Toronto.

It’s a good tradition, one of Holster’s favorites. But he wants more, wants it in a way he doesn’t dare articulate, because honestly, who is he to look at something this great and ask why it can’t be perfect?

Ransom hip-checks him. “Dude, where’d you go?”

Holster comes back to himself with a start. “Sorry. Just thinking, I dunno.” Birds circle above the water; he tracks their progress to avoid looking at Ransom’s stupid salmon shorts and stupid Samwell croakies and stupid perfect face. “Everything’s weird,” he adds softly, still not trusting himself to look at Ransom.

“Weird as fuck,” Ransom says, and then he leans his head against Holster’s shoulder, short-buzzed hair scratchy against his bare skin. Holster freezes and then forces himself to relax. It’s fine, he’s fine, this isn’t-- he’s not-- He just needs to be cool, that’s all. Cool. He’s been cool before, he’s sure. He can do it again.

“Please tell me we can keep doing this,” Holster whispers instead, and immediately considers jumping into the Falls because okay, apparently he is the _opposite_ of cool. 

“We can keep doing this,” Ransom says, and how is _he_ the calm one here? He’s smooth and confident and unflustered, while Holster’s starting to understand the appeal of crawling under a table and hiding there indefinitely. Ransom turns his head just enough to kiss Holster’s shoulder, and the brush of his lips, the scrape of his stubble, is _electrifying_.

“Okay,” Holster croaks. “Okay, good. Yeah. Let’s keep… yeah.”

Ransom shakes his head. “No game whatsoever,” he says, but he’s smiling as he tilts his head up to kiss Holster.

It’s not an ambiguous kiss. One of Ransom’s hands slides up to grip Holster’s bicep and the other slips to the back of his neck, fingers stroking idly through Holster’s hair. Ransom’s lips are warm and soft, and he kisses confidently, with clear intent. He nips gently at Holster’s lower lip and Holster’s knees turn to water.

Holster just wraps his arms around Ransom’s waist and kisses back with enthusiasm, because he has been secretly fantasizing about this for way too long to swoon like some Victorian maiden while Rans shows off.

He turns them just enough that he can lean back against the rail, and that’s enough to erase the few inches’ height difference between them. He pulls Ransom closer against him, and the thunder of the falls blends with the thunder of his pulse. Ransom’s fingers tighten in his hair, and he lets more of his weight press Holster into the rail. Holster’s always liked a partner who can muscle him around a little, whom he can _feel_ , but at 6’4” and well north of two hundred pounds, it’s not something he often finds. The realization, the satisfaction, makes him smile against Ransom’s lips, and Rans takes the opportunity to slip him some tongue.

Fucking _finally_. Holster just grins wider, and he can tell that Ransom is doing the same. It’s making the kissing a little awkward, all this smiling, but Holster is kissing his best friend and his best friend is kissing him back. He’ll take a little awkwardness.

They’re making out in public like a couple of teenagers, but who gives a shit, because Ransom tastes _so good_ and he kisses _so well_ and whatever he’s doing with his hands in Holster’s hair is the best kind of torture Holster has ever experienced.

When Ransom eventually pulls back, he’s still smiling like Holster has never seen him smile. “Bro,” he says. “Holy _shit_ , bro.”

“Bro,” Holster agrees, a little dumbstruck, and tugs Ransom back to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt from [this list](http://onethousandhurrahs.tumblr.com/post/147761209546/send-me-a-word-and-i-will-write-a-drabble): _Cataglottism: kissing with tongue._ There might be rather less tongue-tangling involved than I initially anticipated; I am sorry. I do not think I realized until this fic how _incredibly frigging hard_ it is to write kissing without going, like, full-on "tongues battling for dominance," you know? Or maybe it's just me, whatever.
> 
> (I think I thought it was going to be short, too. Like 500 words? Written in an evening? HAHAHAHANOPE.)
> 
> I'm also on tumblr as [one thousand hurrahs](http://www.onethousandhurrahs.tumblr.com)


End file.
